


More Than You Will Ever Know

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Holidays, Jealous Matt is a sad puppy, Karedevil Stocking Stuffer, Post-Season/Series 03, gratuitous use of the Mariah Carey classic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: Matt knows what he wants for Christmas, but he doesn’t think he deserves to get it.
Relationships: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Marci Stahl, Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 24
Kudos: 55





	More Than You Will Ever Know

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Quietshade for being my first reader. And thanks to irelandhoneybee for graciously allowing me to use this title when we discovered we’d both written Christmas fics with the same one!! :D

It’s something about Foggy’s voice. It’s different.

That’s why Matt hears it when he’s not trying to. He does his best not to tune into conversations in the office before he actually arrives. It’s not fair when they don’t have any warning that he’s listening.

But this morning, as he pulls open the door to their new building — the one that’s home to the re-established law offices of Nelson & Murdock, with “Karen Page, Investigator” in raised letters on the sign as well — Matt hears Foggy’s voice.

“—big date tonight?”

Matt hears it, clear as a bell, and he wishes he hadn’t. Because now he can’t help but keep listening.

“It’s just a little holiday party. Not a big deal.” Karen sounds pleased despite her nonchalance.

Matt lets go of the door and it closes, leaving him still standing outside in the cold.

Christmas is two days away. Matt will be glad when it’s over. It’s not that he hates Christmas — he’s far from a Scrooge — but it’s never been an easy holiday. Not since he was a little kid. And, really, not even then. Holidays always tended to make absences feel more hollow, more echoing.

And now, on top of everything else, Christmastime too often plunges him into memories of the night Elektra’s heart stopped. There’s no more heartbeat in her chest and no more body in her grave, though he still visits, because what else is left of her? He needs someplace to put it sometimes, all the grief.

There’s been so much grief in his life, and it came so close to pulling him under for good. But, in the last several months, he’s been clawing his way slowly upward instead. He finally feels like he’s making his life, shaping it again, instead of simply reacting to one terrible event after another.

The reborn Nelson & Murdock is a success in large part thanks to his work. All of their work, of course, but Matt doesn’t feel like he’s coasting on Foggy and Karen’s elbow grease. He’s brought in clients, he’s won cases, he’s done his share of paperwork and filing and arguing with their internet service provider.

But there’s one part of it all that still makes his heart sting every day, and this conversation is increasing it to full-on heartburn.

“Marci is over the moon. She’s very excited that you two hit it off.”

“Well, I already knew that Marci has excellent taste in men.”

Matt can hear Karen’s smile. She has a date. With a man she likes.

And he isn’t trying to, but he’s remembering it anyway, in rich detail — what it’s like to walk down the street holding Karen’s hand, how the rhythm of her breathing changes when you move in close, how her hair smells, the softness of her lips...

“Does Matt know?”

He flinches at the sound of his name. Upstairs, Karen laughs hesitantly. “Am I supposed to be getting Matt’s permission to date?”

“No...just…”

“Look, Foggy, I know what you hoped—”

“What _I_ hoped?”

“But it’s...it’s not happening.”

“I think he—”

“We agreed not to talk about this stuff at the office.”

“OK, you’re right. Well, I hope you have fun.”

A couple of blocks away, a bodega’s speakers start playing “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” Matt listens to Mariah sing her way to the first verse before he starts walking.

He circles the block twice before going inside.

* * *

It’s not enough. If the tension in the office had time to fade at all during his walk, his arrival revives it — Karen startles when she hears the door. Foggy is wound up, too — made all the more obvious by how cheerful and relaxed he tries to be with his greeting.

Matt thinks he does the best of all of them at acting like everything is normal. He returns Foggy’s hello and busies himself hanging up his winter gear.

Before Matt can settle at his desk, Foggy is speaking up again.

“I think I already reminded you guys, but our flight leaves this afternoon, so I’m only working a couple of hours before I have to go.”

Matt swallows. “How’s your dad?”

“A lot better, thankfully. But we all agreed it’s still the right call for us to go down this year instead of having Mom and Dad come up. Travel would probably tire him out a lot.”

“You’re a sweet son.” Karen’s standing in the doorway of her office now.

Matt supposes that Foggy smiles at Karen, but it’s quick — Foggy’s focus is already back on him. His voice is tinged with concern.

“Matt, you could still buy a last-minute ticket to Tampa, you know. I feel bad depriving you of a Nelson family Christmas this year.”

“I’ll be all right.” Matt smiles ruefully. “My...Sister Maggie is very busy this time of year with the children, but I think we’ll have some time together.”

“You’re welcome to come with me to the Ellisons’,” Karen pipes up.

“Is he still trying to set you up with his nephew?” Foggy asks.

Matt rubs his hand over his stubble. _Another one_?

“Uhhh, not lately,” Karen responds after a pause.

“I’ll be fine,” Matt says emphatically, wanting to stop that line of conversation from going any further.

“OK,” Karen says, clearly not convinced.

But Matt uses it as an excuse to retreat into his office anyway.

* * *

Foggy makes sure to hug Matt twice before he leaves. “Merry Christmas, buddy,” and for some reason, Matt’s throat chokes up. It’s only for a few days — Foggy will be back before New Year’s. And it’s not like they spend _every_ Christmas together. Just...a lot of them.

Once Foggy’s gone, Matt feels himself sliding into a haze of irritation. The air itself seems sandpapery against his skin, he’s having trouble blocking out the coughs and sniffles throughout the building, and “All I Want For Christmas Is You” starts playing on Z100, pouring out of speakers all over Hell’s Kitchen.

Being alone with Karen in the office is unbearable. He’s craving comfort badly, his arms ache to be full of her, and he has to fidget away the urge to go to her, over and over.

Meanwhile, she’s probably thinking about her date.

 _Ouch_.

Still, he’s quick to get up when, after an hour or two, Karen leaves her desk and walks toward their kitchenette. He’s weak, and her pull is strong.

“Oh, hey,” she says nervously when he walks in. She turns a little toward him and the motion knocks the coffee filters she was reaching for off the shelf. Without thinking, Matt moves forward to catch them, and he ends up right behind her in the small space.

Too close.

“Sorry,” he says, and he realizes he’s speaking right into her ear. He feels her shiver, hears the deep breath she takes and blows out slowly, feels the heat coming off her skin.

She doesn’t move away, and neither does he. He’s enthralled by the way she reacts to him, and he’s so terribly tempted to wrap his arms around her, to nuzzle his cheek against her hair.

Then the main door bangs open and they jolt apart.

From the smell of it, a client has brought them freshly baked sugar cookies. Karen goes out to greet him while Matt puts the coffee filters on the counter and tries to pull himself together.

It doesn’t mean anything, he knows that. It’s never been any secret that Karen is attracted to him. He thinks he would have known that from the early days, even without his heightened ability to read her. And, yes, it’s gratifying to think that she _still_ —

But it doesn’t matter. He can’t—

It doesn’t mean anything.

Not a thing.

* * *

By midafternoon, Matt has finished up his most vital work, and he’s ready to go home. His irritability has blossomed into a headache, and he’s spending more time listening to the thump of Karen’s heartbeat and the cadence of her voice on the phone than focusing on his own tasks. He’s ready to be away from her for a while. He’ll call her on Christmas, maybe they can meet up then, but right now he can’t take this.

“I’m headed out,” he says in her doorway, trying to sound like he might actually have someplace to be. “Don’t work too late.”

“I won’t,” she answers. “I’ll be going too, in a minute.”

And dammit, now he’s thinking about her going home and getting ready for her date — the perfume she’ll wear, and that lovely sound her dresses make when they swish around her legs.

“Karen…” His voice sounds shaky, even to him.

“Yeah?” she breathes.

“Do you ever think about....?” But the lump in his throat is too big. His glasses are tucked in his pocket and his fingers itch to retrieve them. He wishes things were different, that he could tell her he loves her and offer her the whole world, but he can’t.

Because maybe she could be happy with someone else. Someone better, someone _more_. And he should let her have that. He shouldn’t get in the way.

“Never mind,” he says, giving in and putting the glasses on. “Have a nice time on your date tonight.”

It’s only when he’s walking home, smelling the promise of snow in the air, that he remembers he wasn’t supposed to know about the date.

* * *

He's brutal that night, fueled by a gnawing black ache. By a hatred for whatever it is that broke in him, so long ago, and will never be right again. He pushes until his lungs are fire and his hands are numb with cold.

The air is still, like it's waiting for something.

He’s tired but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to go home. But then he stops some grinchy assholes who are trying to rob a woman and she thanks him. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Devil," she says. "You’re a blessing."

And all the fight goes out of him.

Back home, he showers off the blood, he dresses for bed, he thinks about Foggy, warm in Florida with the family that loves him.

When he hears it, he thinks he’s dreaming without sleeping — a car door opening, boots crunching on salted pavement, a voice murmuring a quiet “thanks” before the door creaks closed.

She walks to the main door of his building, but she doesn’t enter. “Bad idea,” she mutters to herself and she starts to walk away.

But he’s already pulling on his coat and shoving on his shoes and racing downstairs.

Six floors.

“Karen!” She’s halfway down the block, flagging her taxi down again. Her arm drops to her side when she hears his voice.

“Of course,” she says under her breath — cinnamon and a hint of whiskey. Louder, she says, “I’m going home. Go back upstairs before you freeze.”

“No,” he says, knowing damn well he’s too stubborn for his own good. He closes the distance until they are only steps apart.

“No?” It’s a challenge.

“Not until you tell me why you came.”

“You know why I’m here, Matt?” Her voice is sharper than the cold. “I’m here because you’re a dick!”

“What?”

“You’re a dick!” she repeats, even more emphatically. “I was excited about this date! I mean, I was trying to be. But you chose today of all days to start with the what-ifs. I ruined the whole thing because of you.”

“You did?” He shouldn’t feel a rush of joy at that. It’s not nice.

She takes a step toward him, her voice dropping lower. “What game are you playing?”

“I’m not playing any games.”

“Then what the fuck?”

Matt licks his lips. His hands clench and unclench. The first snowflakes finally begin to fall. One clings to his nose, and he brushes it away.

“I think I deserve a straight answer,” Karen prompts.

“You do.”

“OK. So?”

“I was…” He forces the word out. “Jealous.”

Her heartbeat ticks up and she puffs out a big breath that lingers as vapor in the air. He focuses on the snow settling into her hair, brushing her cheeks. He _knows_ he shouldn’t but he reaches up and trails the backs of his fingers along the line of her jaw. He kissed her for the first time in the rain, and he thinks about it now, how much he wants to kiss her in the snow. She shivers again, just like that night, just like that moment today in the office kitchen. He lets it flow through him, the tiny movement, the way she flushes deeper in the cold. The electricity of her sparkles down his skin.

“The thought of _that_...happening with someone else...it kills me,” he whispers. There. That’s it. The straight answer she asked for.

“So it bothers you…”—she leans in very close—”to think about me doing this”—she presses her lips to his, soft and slow, and god, he’s wanted this for so long and it’s over too quickly—“with my date?”

He says her name, but it’s a strangled growl, and he clutches the back of her neck as he brings his mouth to hers, to kiss her the way he’s been dreaming about. Her coat is open, impractically, and his other hand snakes its way inside to rest on her waist, to pull her closer. He fades into the bittersweetness of warmth and need. _Karen_.

But he shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.

He backs away, agony ringing in his head. “I can’t—”

“What?” Her voice is a shadow.

“I’m not good for you. You—you’re everything and I’m—” He drags his hands down his face, over snowflakes and stubble, and then lets them drop back uselessly to his sides. “I think I’m not built for this. For making someone happy.”

“I don’t know,” she says lightly. She lifts her hand and splays her fingers over his chest. “The way you’re built makes me pretty happy.”

“Karen,” he says, anguished.

“I’m sorry,” she says, flustered now, “but I mean it. When you’re just you, and you don’t get so caught up in deciding I’m better off without you — which is something you do _a lot_ , by the way — you make me happy. I wouldn’t still feel this way…”

“What way?” he asks, despite himself.

Her breath rushes out incredulously — a familiar Karen-y sound. He regrets that he’s given her so many opportunities to find him confounding over the years.

“You’re gonna make me say it? After all that?”

 _Tell her, tell her, tell her,_ beats his heart. _Say it first. You owe her that much._

But he can’t make any words come out. The snow is melting on his coat, dampening his hair.

“You know what? Fine,” she says resignedly. “I love you, Matt. Merry Christmas.”

And she turns on her heel and stalks away. Hot panic flashes through him. If he lets her go now, he’ll never, ever get to hear those words again. And that’s a fate too terrible to even contemplate.

Karen Page loves him. Who the hell is he to throw that away?

“Wait—wait—Karen—Karen—Karen—wait,” he says, moving quickly after her and grabbing for her hand. And he’s luckier than he deserves to be, because she lets him take it. She turns back around.

“I’m an idiot. Don’t go. Please.” He brings her hand to his lips. They are both freezing, but it doesn’t matter.

“Is it too corny to say that all I want for Christmas is you?” he asks. “Because for the last month, anytime anyone played that song, pretty much anywhere in Hell’s Kitchen, I heard it. It’s the only one I can’t block out. Because every time I hear it, I think of you.”

Karen breathes a little shakily, then nods her head. “It’s pretty corny, yeah.”

But she doesn’t pull away. So he moves in closer, knowing it’s time to stop avoiding it. The straight answer.

“Then how about just...I love you.”

The tension is draining out of her and he leans in to kiss her again, tenderly.

“It’s a start,” she says against his lips.

And he’ll just have to do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t end.

* * *

When her phone rings, Marci is sitting in the sunshine, having lunch at a charming café with Foggy and his sister — a welcome break as they finish up some last-minute shopping. The number comes up as Private, but she knows who it will be. She steps away to answer, smiling when she hears the familiar voice.

“How’s Florida?” he asks.

“Well, there's no snow and I'm absolutely rocking a dress from the Roland Mouret resort collection, so I'd say...better than the alternative."

The Gulf Coast isn’t exactly St. Bart’s. But it could be worse. And her parents are coming up from Boca tomorrow so that the families can finally meet. Even better, she’s 99.99% sure that there’s a little velvet box in Foggy’s luggage. Maybe for the first time in her adult life, Marci Stahl is completely and utterly happy.

"I wanted to let you know that the case was closed successfully last night,” the voice on the other end of the phone says proudly.

"Oh, really? That easy?"

Marci wants her precious Foggy Bear to be completely happy, too. But that’s never going to happen if his more-drama-than-a-Real-Housewives-marathon besties can’t sort out their ish.

"She was upset. She left our date early. I watched her sit at that dive bar Josie's for a while, and then she went to his place. They argued out in the snow, and then they kissed and she went inside with him."

Luckily, Marci has resources. And since the Landman & Zack fiasco, she’s developed a talent for getting herself and anyone she cares about out of a jam.

“I knew I could count on you.” She beams.

“I’m efficient. But now we’re even. No more favors.”

“None at all,” she chirps. “Merry Christmas, Malcolm.”

She almost skips on her way back to the table. A merry Christmas indeed.

“Everything OK?” Foggy asks, conscientious as always.

“Yeah, that was...my assistant. Nothing important, just a quick question. Some people can't stop working, even on holidays.”

Foggy sighs. “Speaking of, I hope Matt and Karen are OK.”

“You need to stop worrying about them all the time,” she says, only barely holding back her grin.

“They’re making themselves miserable and I can’t stand to watch it.”

“I know, baby. Maybe you should call them, see how they are. You never know, sometimes miracles happen at the holidays.”

“You believe in that stuff?” Foggy asks with a sweet smile.

“I think...Santa’s little helpers are everywhere.”


End file.
